Bishop's Lament
by Obsidian Productions
Summary: Eric Bishop was supposed to die trying to escape Black Mesa. Only he didn't. A mysterious man in a business suit somehow saved him. Now, twenty years later, Eric has been abandoned in a bleak, Dystopian future. He's already lived in City 17 for two years when the Freeman shows up and incites rebellion. But those two years have been harsh on Eric, does he have anything left to give?
1. Prologue: Smell the Ashes

_**H λ **__**L F – L I F E  
-Bishop's Lament-**_

_**Prologue  
**-Smell the Ashes-_

Eric Bishop felt a gasp torn from his lungs as the world abruptly shifted once more. The image of the cryptic man in the business suit and the tram cart floating through an abyss was still fresh in his mind's eye. Now, he was somewhere else completely. Eric slowly looked around, studying the space around him.

It was raining and dark. He stood in an alleyway with garbage strewn across the cracked concrete ground. Something stank, like roadkill that had been left outside for a very long time. After a moment, he located the source of the sour, rank stench: a Headcrab corpse, half-decayed and supporting an orbit of flies, lay beside a graffitied dumpster. Eric felt a cold stone settle deep in his guts and infect him with raw fear.

A Headcrab was in an urban setting, long dead. All sorts of implications sprouted into being. If Headcrabs were common enough that they were left where they died...how far had the Resonance Cascade spread? It was obvious that everyone at Black Mesa had failed to contain the Xen creatures, even with the nuke that had gone off.

The nuke...

There was suddenly a sharp blue flash. Eric spun around and saw the business man who had somehow snared him standing right before him, as though he had been there the entire time. He reached up an adjusted his tie.

"He-llo, ag_ain _Missss-ter Bish-_op_. I kn_ow_ it's been _qu-_ite a while, but I'm af-_raid_ that I can no lo-nger of-fer you my protec_-tion_. The time hassssss come to...wake up and...smell the ashes." He smiled suddenly, an awkward thing on the man's pale face.

"Hmm...'smell the ashessssss'...I li-_ke_ that. Perhapssss I will have to ussse it wh-en I wake _him_ up..." he murmured to himself.

The speechlessness and inexplicable fear that had kept Eric rooted to his current position abated and he began advancing on the mystery man. He raised his hands, ready to get some answers out of the bastard one way or the other, when abruptly the man disappeared in a flash of blue light. Eric came to a halt, his arms falling to his sides numbly. He stood there for a very long time in the rain, uncertain of what to do.

Finally, some semblance of motivation asserted itself and he turned around. Walking to the mouth of the alleyway, he peered cautiously into the area beyond. There was a large, open square of space lit by enormous, blindingly white halogen arc-lamps. Several men in what appeared to be full body armor with white masks that glowed in the bright lights marched around wielding machine guns. They terrified him.

"How long have I been gone?" Eric whispered.


	2. Darker Days

_**Act One: Broken**_

_**Chapter 01  
**-Darker Days-_

Eric felt that, up until right now, it had been a good day.

He'd awoken bright and early and set out into City 17 with the others in the apartment to get through the bullshit they had to do to appear like they were living normal, horrifying lives underneath the awful Combine rule. They'd gotten their breakfast from the dispensary and made their way back to the apartment with a proper air of sullen despair. After that, they'd all eaten a _real_ breakfast and gotten on with the day.

Eric had been scouting for the better part of eight hours now. City 17 had a massive sewer system that was, for the most part, largely unguarded. Mainly because a huge portion of it was flooded with radioactive toxic sludge, but if you knew where you were going, you could move around the City without so much as an unlawful frisk from Civil Protection.

Eric had checked out three seperate buildings so far. An abandoned warehouse, an old garage and a long ago forsaken hotel that was half-collapsed. Now he was on his final hunt for the day. An apartment building that looked like it had seen a brutal raid some time ago. He'd been searching for almost an hour, hunting through the desolate rooms of broken furniture and old blood that smelled faintly of rust and bitter gloom.

In fact, he'd been right on his last room, hunting a corner apartment on the forth floor. So far, the apartment had produced next to nothing, but over the past two years, Eric found that he'd developed something of a sixth sense for finding hidden caches. They were just...obvious. He didn't know why, and he had no way to put the feeling into words. It just seemed to him that there would be a cache of supplies in some buildings.

And he was sure that he was on the verge of finding it, preparing to open a crate he'd found stashed in the back bedroom, behind a warped wooden dresser, when he heard it. That deep, guttural hiss-rattle that signaled a Black Legion Headcrab had him in its sights. That was a terrifying sound, but also a potentially prosperous one.

Eric had been bitten by a Black Legion Headcrab just once, and he'd been at death's door for an entire week. It had taken him a whole month to recover and if he hadn't had certain people there to take care of him, well...he wouldn't still be here today. Eric eased his knife out of the sheath in his boot. He still wasn't sure exactly where it was, only that it wasn't behind him. He looked around, taking a few cautious steps.

A warning growl from his right. He spun and narrowly dodged it as it leapt for him. It must've been in the deeper shadows of the doorless bathroom, he realized, as he whipped around to face it. It hit the wall and fell to the ground. As it recovered, he all but leapt on it, slamming his blade down all the way through, pinning it to the floor. It squealed and growled viciously, kicking its legs as it died. Eric stepped back and waited.

While it passed through its last few moments of existence, he shifted the dresser the rest of the way and grabbed the crate. He pried the top off and peered within.

"Jackpot!" he whispered, feeling an elation he rarely felt these days. There were cans of food, at least a dozen and a half, piled haphazardly within. They were mostly fruits and vegetables, but a few of them were canned meats. He hauled the crate out, resealing the top and stared at the Headcrab. It had stopped twitching.

He gave it a few more seconds, then poked at it with his boot. Nothing. He hauled the knife out, stepping on the corpse to keep it in place, and fished around in his pocket for the thin, clear phial he kept for just such an occasion. Working quickly, he pierced the toxin sac of the creature and collected as much as he could into the phial.

When it was full, he stoppered it with a cork and slipped it carefully into his pocket. This was a trick he had learned from back in the days when he had been in the Resistance. Eric grabbed the crate and began making his way back down through the apartment. He paused at cracked, soot-stained window in the stairwell on the second floor, peering cautiously through it. In the street below, he spied a cluster of CPs standing around, probably swapping stories about who they'd beaten to death recently. Eric sighed bitterly and kept going.

He moved all the way down, into the basement, and lifted a circular cover in a back storage room.

Cautiously, Eric lowered himself into the sewers and began to make his way back home.

* * *

Home was a beat-to-shit apartment building that, from the outside, looked like it had suffered a serious fire at one point and was on the verge of collapse. Most of the windows were broken and boarded over and there was no front door. The elevator didn't work, though Bill was apparently working on that. The paint was peeling or gone. While the toilets and sinks worked, the Combine at least allowed _that_, they provided nothing but cold water. If you wanted a real shower, you had to report to the public bathing areas.

The building looked exactly like Eric wanted it to look: a piece of crap, just like every other building in the area. It helped throw Civil Protection off the trail. It was the basement that held the real prize, the genuine secret of his apartment. When Eric had been scouting out the apartment four months ago, one of the things he had been looking for was a hidden basement. A sub-basement. He knew they were rare, but hunted relentlessly.

This apartment had one. And the only way to get to it was via a metal hatch in the back room. The sub-basement also led to the sewers, a pretty hidden part of them. Eric felt like he had hit the jackpot, and so far, that notion had held true.

He emerged in the sub-basement and stared around its single room. It was always hot down here, as this was where he had established their hydroponic garden. It wasn't much, just a trio of tables beneath a pair of salvaged sun lamps that supported dirt and all sorts of fruits and vegetables. Between the garden and Eric's and a few of more braver soul's scavenger hunts out in the ruins of City 17, they could feed themselves entirely independently now.

Eric crossed the garden, stopping to check a few things, then walked over to the corner where they stored their cans of salvaged food. He popped open the big cabinet they'd managed to build for such storage and began sorting the cans. Mostly it was just fruits or vegetables, but there were some cans of meat and they'd even managed to salvage some military rations. MREs, which lasted about forever. He sorted the cans, hid the phial of Black Legion poison he'd managed to pick up and made his way over to the ladder.

Eric checked the hole they had carved out of the concrete. It created a little tunnel that began at the top of the ceiling and ended at the base of the floor in the room above. There was nothing there. In the event that Civil Protection was actually inside the building or it looked like they might be coming in, someone would drop a slip of paper through the hole. Eric made double sure to check and see if it had fallen to the ground, but saw nothing.

The hydroponic garden was, by far, their greatest secret and in direct violation of the Combine rule. They wanted everyone to live on _their_ food, not any other source of food, or drink. And, of course, they loaded up their food and water supplies with all manner of drugs. Drugs that made you lose your memory and drugs that made you not care so much. Eric found no slip, but was still cautious as he exited the sub-basement.

When he was positive the coast was clear, Eric replaced the grate securely and moved through the basement. There was no one down there for the moment. It was largely full, packed with all manner of old machinery, bulky washers and dryers, boxes and boxes of useless crap, leftover from the days when this had been a real apartment building and the owner had rented out sections of the basement to the tenants for storage.

Eric left the basement and resurfaced. The reddish light of sunset bled in through the windowless holes in the apartment building. He found a couple of his own tenants hanging around the entryway, sitting on the front stairs.

"Hey, how's it going, guys?" he asked.

"Free and clear, my man," Jake replied. Jake was a middle-aged, balding man who, before the apocalypse, had been a truck driver back in the States. Now he mostly just watched the area around the apartment for signs of Civil Protection. Aaron sat beside him, reading an ancient paperback novel. They were rare, but not actual contraband. Not yet at least.

"Good to know."

It was just a quick check in. Free and clear meant no Combine in the area. He moved on, his next stop the elevator. The doors were open and the elevator itself, little more than a rickety cage, was half-sunk into the shaft. Bill sat on top of it, playing with the mechanical equipment. Bill was in his late sixties and had once been electrician. Well, Eric supposed that wasn't entirely fair. He still was an electrician, just didn't get a paycheck for it.

"How's it going up there, Bill?" Eric asked, poking his head in. Bill jumped a little, then let out a small laugh.

"Gave me a start there, Eric...it's going good. Slow, but good. With that wiring you managed to find, I think I might actually be able to get this thing working again," he said.

"Excellent. Keep me informed."

"I will."

Eric began to make his way upstairs. He was convinced that Bill had Alzheimer's, and the memory-corroding shit they put in the water and the food had only made it worse. It was mild now, but he knew it would likely get worse soon. And then what? It was a problem for later. They didn't really need the elevator, but Eric liked to make everyone feel useful. He climbed the stairs up to the third story, saying hi to those he saw.

He found Baker waiting for him in his apartment.

"Hey, boss," he said, glancing up from the clipboard he had grown so attached to.

"Hello, Baker. What have you got for me today?" Eric replied.

"Hmm...just a moment..." Baker was the youngest resident at the apartment. He was just twenty one. Meaning he had grown up exclusively under Combine rule. While a lot of the younger ones that Eric had met had been more easily swayed towards the Combine, since it was literally all they knew, Baker was the exact opposite. He was often angry and irritable and handled everything in a brisk, clipped military attitude.

He was Eric's second in command.

"No Civil Protection activity in the area to report. We managed to secure and properly dispose of all our meals. The, ah, basement remains secure and prosperous. Robert got back from his scouting mission about an hour ago. He managed to find some more tools...a knife...a few cans of vegetables...a lighter..." While Baker continued on, Eric walked over to the TV mounted on the rickety end table and turned it on. Baker hesitated briefly, then kept going. Eric walked to the window and stared out of it, still listening intently.

"And...ah...that's it," Baker said, finishing up. He made a disgusted noise. "I don't know why you even bother turning that on," he said, staring angrily at the image of Breen, droning on ceaselessly about the necessity of Combine rule.

"It's comforting...in a weird way. I guess you wouldn't understand. There was once a time when there was more than one channel on the television," Eric said, turning to face Baker now. "And people would watch it for entertainment or relaxation. And...well, admittedly Doctor Breen's boring lectures about how great our alien overlords are quite irritating...they are also soothing in a way. Not the messages themselves, just the background noise..."

"You know, I still don't understand why you call him Doctor Breen...he's not a doctor...is he?" Baker asked, sounding genuinely curious now. Eric cursed himself silently and tried to play it off with a casual shrug.

"Must've been a rumor I heard that he was a doctor," he replied. Baker looked unsatisfied with the answer, but shrugged just the same.

"Will there be anything else?" he asked.

"Oh, yes. I managed to get a phial of Black Legion poison...see what you can do with it." Baker regarded him with awe-stricken eyes.

"Aw, man, really!?" he cried. Eric nodded. "That's...man, how do you _do_ shit like that?" he asked, marveling. Eric shrugged, allowing himself a small smile. It was nice to be able to still wow people from time to time. "I'll get right on it," Baker said.

Eric watched him go, then decided to head up to the roof.

* * *

He had his dinner on the roof while sitting in an ancient foldout chair, the kind families took on camping trips or propped out on front porches, back when the world made sense. Dinner was a can of corn and a can of pineapple slices, with a bottle of filtered water to drink. He'd managed to build enough filters for everyone in the apartment. Of course, they kept them well hidden, buried beneath useless junk or locked away in secret panels in the walls and floors. Living under the Combine rule for two years had made Eric paranoid.

Eric thought while he ate, as he often did, alone on the rooftop. He watched the sun die, making a slow burn for the horizon as it did every evening. He'd managed to piece together that nearly eighteen years had passed between the time that nuke had gone off and the time the mysterious business-suited man had dropped him off in that alley. And two years had passed since then. Twenty years altogether. Twenty. Years.

For the most part, people hardly seemed to have very solid memories of how it all got started. He knew about the Seven Hour War. How it only took the Combine seven hours after being released from Black Mesa and opening up portals all over the Earth to win. But because of the memory-corroding drugs in the water, which Eric had been forced to drink at certain points, his own life was a little fuzzy.

To his great shame, Eric found that he could no longer recall his hometown, his mother's name or whether or not he had had a sister. Some days, he thought for sure that he did, others he seemed positive that he didn't. The only things that seemed genuinely clear anymore were the memories of his time spent here, in the year 2029, in a ruined city somewhere in Europe...and his time spent back in Black Mesa.

Eric yawned and finished his meal.

He stood, stretched and decided to turn in early tonight.

It had been a long day.


	3. New Arrivals

_**Chapter 02  
**-New Arrivals-_

Terror tore him from his sleep.

In the two years since his arrival, Eric had become a very light sleeper. The Combine were never very far, and the threat of their sudden invasion loomed constantly overhead. His eyes snapped open in the darkness, and then screwed up as a brilliant titanium white light pierced the obsidian curtain that veiled his room.

_"This is a standard investigation! Remain in your rooms! I repeat..."_

"No," Eric groaned. "No, no, no!"

He tossed the blankets aside and rolled out of bed. Hurrying across the room, he snapped on his television and turned it up. Doctor Breen still droned on endlessly, this time spouting some bullshit about how the Combine was here to nurture Humanity as a whole and offer us immortality. Even in his mind-numbing fear, Eric managed to roll his eyes at that. The only real contraband that he had in his room was the water-filter, which was a simple device that attached to the end of the faucet and filtered all the shit out of the water.

He never left it out, anyway. It was hidden in a concealed panel beneath his bathtub that didn't work. Outside, a Combine Gunship hung in the air like a great metal insect, punching holes in the darkness with its powerful spotlights. Two more buzzed behind it, a couple of dozen meters back. It was a raid. A big one.

Eric tried to calm himself. He'd drilled everyone on how to react to a raid. No resistance, not the slightest sign of defiance. Just 'yes sir', 'no sir' until they'd gotten what they wanted and were gone. And hopefully what they wanted wasn't you. Eric walked slowly to his window. Maybe they wouldn't even come to his building...

The hope died even before it had fully formed. Down below, he could see a dozen troops massing outside the main entrance to his building. It wasn't long before they charged in. Their arrival was preceded by the pounding of heavy combat boots and the squawk-beep of their helmet mounted radios. Within seconds, he saw them: black suits and white masks that glowed in the darkness, seeming to hover as they passed by his doorway.

Two of them stopped and walked in. They both had stun batons out and looked like they wanted to put them to use. Eric remained motionless, staring intently at the pair of Civil Protection guards. One of them stepped forward.

_"Seen any unusual people around lately?"_ he asked, his voice sounding mechanical through the filter in his helmet. Eric shook his head.

"No, I-"

_"Sit down and shut up," _the guard snapped, and shoved Eric back. He managed to land on his bed with a soft grunt. The pair began moving through the room, looking behind what little furniture he had to his name. One of them began yanking open drawers in the kitchen and spilling their contents across the floor. Old silverware and random pieces of junk scattered across the cracked tile ground. The other one walked over to Eric, pulled out his pistol and stuck it to Eric's forehead. Eric allowed himself to cringe and cower.

_"You know why we're here?"_ he growled.

"N-no, sir," Eric managed.

_"We're looking for someone. And if we don't find them, maybe we'll just settle for one of _you_."_

To this, Eric swallowed with genuine fright. This was all a real possibility. The Combine were not known for being fair, or even rational, really. You could do everything right and if the mood took them, they'd still put a bullet in your brain or haul you away for 'processing'. Nobody knew what it meant because nobody ever came back from it.

_"There's nothing here. And he's obviously a pushover. Come on, let's go see if the other guys found anything,"_ the second guard said, coming back from the kitchen. The first one remained stationary, gun still pointed at Eric's head. For a long moment, they remained that way. Despite not being able to see his face, Eric could practically _feel_ how hard it was for the guard not to pull the trigger. Finally, he put the gun away, turned and marched out of the room with the other. Eric slowly let out his breath.

A very close call. A million thoughts were rushing through his head. Would they find the basement stash? Would they find any filters? Would they take anyone away? Being around the Combine was basically gambling with your life, with the odds stacked heavily against you. There was pretty much nothing stopping them from completely screwing you over. It was moments like this that Eric missed being in the Resistance. At least with them, you could fight your way out if you had to. Sure, you might die, but at least you went down swinging, taking as many of the bastards down with you as you could manage.

In situations like these, you just had to take it.

Eric stood up as he heard someone shouting. Someone _not_ wearing a helmet. It was somewhere on his level. Eric tried to figure out who it might be. There were a handful of people he worried about, men who might snap at some point. He moved to his door, poked his head out. The CPs were all gathered around one doorway. A few of the other tenants were cautiously risking a glance, poking their heads out into the corridor. Eric's eyes widened as he realized who it was.

Baker.

He was screaming bloody murder, threatening all sorts of things.

"No..." Eric moaned. He wanted to rush forward, screaming for Baker to just shut up and let them pass. But something in the tenseness of the CP's movements, the rigidity of their stances told him that it was too late.

Abruptly, as if to punctuate this thought, a loud buzzing filled the air, followed promptly by a short scream and a _thud_. Eric watched as they dragged Baker's unconscious form out of his bedroom and down the corridor. Everyone quickly disappeared back into their own rooms. Eric remained, watching until they had him out of sight. The CPs went with him. Eric walked to the window and watched them leaving the building, heading off into the night, dragging Baker with them. The Gunship hovered for a long time before finally leaving.

* * *

"Eric...we've got a problem."

Eric snapped awake and caught an image of dust motes floating in a sunbeam. For a second, it ignited in him an ancient memory, a memory that was older than he now was. A memory of waking in his bedroom when he was young on a Saturday morning. No school, no foreseeable responsibilities, just freedom. And then the undeniable knowledge that those memories were gone, and they would never come back, came crashing down on him.

"What is it?" he asked groggily, standing up.

"We've got an...unexpected guest. We found her hiding in the basement," Jake replied, standing awkwardly in the doorway.

That got his attention. Eric took a moment to piss and then wash his face, then followed Jake out into the corridor and through the building. They passed Baker's room without looking into it. It had been a very long night. Eric had gone through and checked on everyone else, making sure no one was missing or hurt. After that, he'd finally managed to lay down...but the sleep he had gotten was very restless and fitful.

They came to the ground floor and moved through it. The others were already up, getting ready for another day of pointless bullshit.

"Who is she?" Eric asked.

"Not sure. Bill found her. He was poking around for a screwdriver he swore he left down there, found her sleeping on a pile of boxes in the very back corner. She was pretty scared when I came to get you..." Jake hesitated as they reached the door to the stairwell that led to the basement. Eric could hear two voices echoing up to him. Jake put a hand on Eric's shoulder.

"She might be what they were looking for last night...and why Baker ended up getting dragged off," he said, quietly.

"I know. I'll find out what's going on." Jake nodded and let his hand fall to his side. Eric knew he would need a new number two. Jake was probably going to be it. He might not have the raw energy and zeal of Baker, but he was obviously competent and pretty level-headed. If Eric asked, he'd bet that Jake would step up to the job.

He went down the stairs calmly and loudly, making sure the woman didn't think she was being snuck up on. The voices cut off as Eric came close.

"Who's that?" he heard whispered, the woman.

"It's likely Eric...now don't worry, he's a very nice fellow and he'll make sure you're safe and sound," Bill replied. Eric suppressed a chuckle. Bill was too nice for his own good. Eric felt likely he was going to have to kick this woman out. He stepped into the basement. The woman sat on an ancient but sturdy dryer and Bill stood across from her, leaning against a pile of boxes that probably hadn't moved in a decade.

"Hey there, Bill...you find what you were looking for down here?" Eric asked.

"You know, I just remembered that I actually have a spare upstairs," Bill replied. An uncomfortable silence began to settle as Bill lingered. Finally, he took the hint and straightened up. "Guess I'll get back to it," he said, then left.

Eric sized up the woman sitting on the dryer, who hopped to her feet when Bill left. Immediately, she fell into a defensive stance. It was obvious that she was fit and fed. Her eyes were chips of blue ice and spoke of a keen intellect. Her brunette hair was cut short and functional. All at once, Eric could see that she was a member of the Resistance.

"So, who are you supposed to be?" she asked.

"Eric Bishop. I'm the...I guess you could say landlord around here. Who are you?"

"I'm..." she hesitated. Eric sighed.

"Look, I can already tell you're Resistance and you're likely the reason my apartment was stormed at midnight, why my number two man was taken away by force and why I got almost no sleep last night. So can we dispense with the bullshit? Everyone here has to get to breakfast very soon and if any one of us misses it, Civil Protection might get suspicious."

"How'd you know I was Resistance?" she asked, the suspicion naked in her voice.

"Oh, come on. You're in fantastic shape and your preparing yourself to dropkick me. I know that move. I know that stance." She loosened up slightly, leaned back the dryer, her pose a mockery of relaxation.

"Fine. I'm Kyra. Resistance. Pleased to meet you. Can you help me? I need to get to a safe house. Normally I'd just go alone, but the heat is on."

"No, I can't help," Eric replied immediately. "...what'd you do, anyway?"

"Remember that explosion a couple nights ago?"

"Yeah, I do. Felt it all the way over here. Heard it was a Combine manufacturing plant...ah, hell. _That's_ what they want you for?" Kyra nodded. Eric sighed heavily and rubbed at his eyes. He was still exhausted. And there was a lot to do today.

"Okay...look, let me think for a little bit, alright? You can stay here if you want...we'll get you some food in about an hour."

"Alright...and thanks."

* * *

Morning was never pleasant.

Eric joined Jake, Bill and the others on their daily pilgrimage towards the Combine Food Processing Center. The Combine passed out freeze-dried packages of food that actually tasted pretty good, as well as a can of Breen's Private Reserve, which tasted fantastic. It was what Breen himself drank, according to the can. The only downside was all the drugs they poured into the stuff while they were processing it. Everyone stood in line and didn't talk. The crimson alien eyes of the omnipresent cameras and the hovering Cityscanners stared endlessly at them. Never blinking, never faltering, picking up every tiny detail.

Eric found himself thinking about Kyra exclusively. Nothing else broached his mental horizons on that hot morning somewhere in what had once been Europe. Kyra seemed to represent a lot of things. Danger, to be sure. But his past, perhaps, most of all. Eric had spent a while in the Resistance, what felt like years, and it had satisfied him in a way he hadn't felt in a long time now. Sitting there in his apartment building, constantly worrying and wondering when it was all going to come apart...it was a shadow of his former life.

By the time he was on his way back home, he was telling himself that personally guiding her somewhere safe was probably the best move.

* * *

"I'll help you get somewhere safe," Eric said.

They were sitting on dryers, eating breakfast out of cans. He had some corned beef hash and she was going through her second can of peas. He found it impressive. Even being forced to rely on food from cans and eating things he normally never would...Eric had never been able to stomach peas. Not even after the apocalypse.

"You really think you're up to the job?" Kyra replied, raising her eyebrows as she looked up at him from over the can.

"I...used to be in the Resistance," he replied after a long moment. Might as well get it out of the way now.

"What do you mean 'used to be'? The only way out is a bullet or a brain-wipe by the Combine," she asked cautiously.

"Something...bad happened. I lost some friends. I...couldn't take it anymore. I broke. This is what I do now."

"You broke? So why would I want you with me?" Eric sighed.

"Just because I broke once doesn't mean I'm a helpless moron. I keep in shape, I still know how to run and gun, and I know a lot of this city like the back of my goddamned hand."

"Okay, wow, sorry. I...I'm glad for the help."

"Yeah," Eric muttered. He finished up and tossed his can back among the pile of refuse, then stood and popped his neck. "I need to go set things straight with the others, and we'll have to wait for nightfall. I suggest you get some sleep and be ready."

"I will be."

He left her eating peas in the basement.


	4. Falls Apart

_**Chapter 03  
**-Falls Apart-_

Awake again.

It was raining when Eric returned from the soundless shores of sleep. He snapped his eyes open to the bloody red twilight of a dying sun, once more making a long, slow burn towards the eternal horizon. For a moment, he laid there and thought about the sun. Twenty long years the Combine had been in control, and yet some things never changed. All life on the Earth could be extinguished...and still that sun would rise and fall like clockwork.

He rolled out of bed, washed his face and changed into a fresh set of grim blue clothes. The jumpsuits they were all issued. For good measure, he shaved his head and then slipped on the optional blue skull-cap as well. He stared in his chipped, stained bathroom mirror and saw a familiar face looking back. An old one.

His war face.

It was a face he hadn't seen in a long time now. Part of him was very, very excited. Life in the Resistance had been so much more exhilarating than what he'd forced himself into over these past, long nine months. His existence had been a pale shadow of what it once was, he himself a shell of the man he'd once been. But that was all going to have to go now. Some part of Eric knew that if he went down this road again, there was likely no coming back.

So why didn't he just give this girl a map and some supplies and send her packing? Why not just continue his safe existence here, protecting his flock of tenants? But as he stared into his own cold green eyes, hardening into emerald marbles, he knew the truth. Because his life was a lie. He'd never been very good at lying, could never really stomach it. And there was a part of him that knew he'd rather be dead than carry on like this.

Though while he was glad to shed this life, he knew that he had responsibilities. Eric left his room. He had nothing of personal value left, no belongings he kept on his person. That was one of the first lessons you learned: travel light. The mysterious man with the weird method of talking, who Eric had taken to thinking of as the G-Man, hadn't let him take anything of any real value out of Black Mesa.

Eric had arrived in a blue jumpsuit and skull-cap with nothing in his pockets.

He found Jake waiting for him in the corridor, wringing his own skull-cap anxiously in his callused hands.

"So...you're really going, huh, boss?" he asked.

"Yeah. I'm afraid so. But I trust you, Jake. So do the others. With Baker and myself gone...you'll have to make due. I've taught you everything I know about running this place...and setting up a new one if you have to. Are you going to be able to handle it?" Eric replied.

"Yeah...yeah. I'll do it, alright. Can't say I relish the job, exactly, but I've never really been one to back away from responsibility. Someone needs to be in charge here, I'm the best guy for the job. I'll do it. I guess...I just have one question." Jake hesitated, his eyes shifting uncertainly. Eric raised his eyebrows silently, imploring him to continued.

"Why are you doing this? I mean...we've got girls around here..." he murmured uncomfortably. Eric laughed easily.

"It's not about that, Jake. Let's just say...I used to be in the Resistance. And I think it's high time I got back to work. Responsibility and all that."

"I guess I understand then. I have to say though, I always suspected you used to be a soldier with them. Just figured that if you hadn't told us, it was none of our business."

"All for the best no one knew," Eric replied. "Now, where is our guest? Still in the basement, I hope."

"Yeah, she is...I guess this is goodbye, boss." Jake stuck out his hand. Eric took it, shook it, wished the man good luck. And he meant it, too. The Combine was around, activity was up all across the area. And they likely wouldn't be leaving for a long time. It was going to be a tough couple of weeks for the residents, maybe even longer.

He found her in the sub-basement, doing sit-ups. Her eyes followed him as she came up and down, her breath coming out smooth and even. Eric tried not to admire her for too long. It had been a while since he'd come across any woman who was fit and had a take-charge attitude. He knew it wasn't a byproduct of gender, almost everyone he met was scrawny and humble by now. Eric busied himself in the task of preparing for their journey.

"You ready to go yet?" she asked, repositioning herself after a moment into doing push-ups.

"Just about. Now, this knife I'm going to give you...do _not _stab yourself with it. It's been treated with Black Legion poison," Eric replied. Kyra hesitated.

"You really were in the Resistance. That's an old trick. We don't do that much anymore," she said.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Too dangerous." Eric snorted and tied his sheathed knife to his belt. He didn't bother taking any food. Too bulky and he wanted to give his people all the edge he could. He moved across the room to a small gunmetal gray box hidden underneath a workbench. He pulled it out, set it atop the bench and flipped it open. Inside was a pistol. _His_ pistol. The only thing he'd kept from his past life in the Resistance besides the cold memories.

"What's that?" Kyra asked, standing now, not breathing hard but sporting a soft sheen of sweat. She wore a blue jumpsuit that fit her well. She'd torn the arms out at the shoulders and stuffed the skull-cap into one pocket.

"My pistol, from way back when," Eric replied. It was a modified 9mm, the same model that all the Civil Protection patrols carried. He'd fitted it with a retractable digital zoom scope that had batteries that wouldn't run out of juice for a decade. He'd also did what old cops would call de-horning: filing down all the tips, corners and edges so that it could be pulled from its holster slick as hell. Eric had spent a lot of time with this pistol.

"Looks good," she murmured.

"Yeah, check this out," he said, turning it so that she could see the handle. He'd etched the Resistance's symbol into the grip and painted it orange. He studied the symbol. It was kind of ironic, he thought. The Lambda symbol, he'd come to learn from some of the more experienced Resistance members. A symbol of science and knowledge had come to be used for such violence. The paint was faded and chipped now.

"You know, I've never understood that logo. I guess I just always assumed someone picked it at random, cause it looked cool. No one I've talked to seems to know..." Kyra murmured, staring intently at it.

"It's a Greek letter. It also is a symbol used in the half-life equation, it represents the decay constant. And it was worn on the suit of a man who used to be very, very important..." Eric replied, trailing off. At the time, he hadn't even known about all the other conflict going on in Black Mesa, or that Gordon Freeman even existed. But when he'd gotten back, some of the older members of the Resistance still talked about him whenever they could. Eric had never really gotten over that, feeling a little jealous, as he'd led his own campaign in Black Mesa. But he'd told almost no one about that, figuring it would just complicate things.

"How'd you know all that? And what man?" Eric rolled his eyes.

"What are they _teaching_ you nowadays?" Kyra let out a huff of annoyance.

"It's not like I'm some dumb kid. I'm thirty years old. I'm just more concerned with here and now and not all that old crap my dad's always trying to get into," she replied. Eric shrugged and began checking out his pistol, making sure it was still in working order. He came down here about once a month to field-strip it, clean it and make sure it was still functional. But he hadn't been down in almost a month since and now, all of a sudden, he needed it.

"Where you going, anyway?" Eric asked.

"There's a large underground railway in the east section of the city. We've set up shop in a power generator and storage complex a level below it. You know the place?"

"Oh, yeah. Sub-Station Seven."

"It's called Gibson Station now."

"I see..."

Their conversation was cut off very abruptly as the cellular awareness that something was wrong hit them both. Almost immediately was the sound of heavy boots thudding somewhere overhead and the distant _squawk-beeps_ of Combine radios.

"Oh, shit..." Eric muttered, heading for the ladder. "Stay here."

"Like hell," Kyra replied, grabbing the knife he'd set out for her. Eric sighed and hurried up the ladder, cautiously pushing the grate aside. There was no one in the basement, but he could hear a great deal of Combine overhead as well as the not-so-distant sounds of Gunships. He kept his gun out, holding it tightly in both hands, as he moved across the basement to the stairwell. The sound of shouting Combine was ominously close now.

_"On the ground, now!"_

_ "We know she's here!"_

_ "Round everyone up for processing!"_

"Oh no..." Eric moaned.

"This is my fault. I'm sorry," Kyra whispered.

"I can't let this happen. We need to get them out of here," Eric replied, suddenly resolute. He raised the pistol. Kyra grinned and brought her knife up as well.

"Well then, let's get to it. We can bring them with us, drop them at an outpost along the way," she said with an easy shrug. Eric nodded. They left the basement, making their way quickly and quietly up the dank, concrete stairwell. The light was terrible in it and not much better in the corridor beyond. The hid in the shadows, watching. The stairwell led to a small antechamber at the base of another stairway that offered a way deeper into the apartments as well as a short corridor that led back to the front lobby.

A pair of Combine troops were facing away from them, looking up the stairs, talking quickly into their radios. Eric raised the pistol and engaged the silencer he'd also built in, then glanced at Kyra. He motioned that she should strike the same time he pulled the trigger and she nodded back to him. He silently counted down, then squeezed the trigger. His shot took the first Combine trooper in the back of the head, dropping him instantly.

A loud, irritating flat-line whine began to fill the air. Kyra moved almost before the first had hit the floor, driving the tip of her knife expertly into and out of the back of the neck of the second trooper. He let out a short bark of pain before flat-lining as well. Eric knelt and relieved both men of their ammo and passed one of the sidearms to Kyra, who sheathed the knife.

"Let's move," he murmured.

Kyra watched his back while he moved up the stairs, gun pointed forward, arms extended. They progressed up the old wooden stairs, past a black railing of chipped paint and old metal. The second floor was a haze of chaos. At least half a dozen of them, probably more. Maintaining the stealth for as long as he could, he carefully punched holes through the heads of the three CPs still out in the corridors.

Their bodies instantly dropped, thudding and flat-lining loudly. Another pair immediately stepped out into the corridor to investigate and were put down. Whoever was left was a little more cautious. Eric managed to take one more down, an idiot who slowly poked his head out, before they started blind-firing at him and calling for back up.

"Shit, we need to get out of here quick," he growled. "Cover me."

Kyra responded positively and he moved forward, quick and quiet like they'd taught him. The Combine soldiers were good, but not that good. He slipped into the first bedroom on the left, knowing that it connected to the next one. Hurrying across the living room, he peered cautiously into the doorway and spied one of the remaining CPs hovering by the front door, waiting for him to make his move. Eric did, smoothly raising his pistol and double-tapping the CP with a pair of bullets into the back of his helmeted head.

He hurried over and took up the original position of the trooper and caught sight of another, posted just across the hall. Both began to raise their pistols. Eric was a little quicker and shot the bastard through his crimson-lensed right eye. A small plume of gore escaped the ruined helmet as the soldier toppled over backwards.

Eric did a quick survey of the second floor and found he'd eliminated the immediate resistance. He also found half a dozen of his tenants, Jake among them.

"Eric...what the hell are you doing?" Alan, one of the younger ones, whispered.

"Saving your asses," he replied, gathering them in the hallway and then frisking one of the corpses. He tossed the pistol the CP had been holding to Jake.

"Get them downstairs, arm everyone. Head for the tunnels and wait for me there," he said briskly. Jake nodded.

"Come on everyone, let's get going."

"We've got company! Upstairs and down!" Kyra called.

"Shit!" Eric snapped. "Pistols everyone. If you can't shoot, hang back!"

He and Jake moved forward to join Kyra at the landing. She was right. Footsteps from above and below. Eric knew they had to move fast or risk getting bogged down. No doubt there was back-up on the way. As soon as the troopers came into view, the sound of three pistols firing exploded into being and went on for several seconds. Blood flew and bodies crumpled, falling down the stairwell and clogging it up.

"Kyra, take the others downstairs. You and Jake, cover the main entrance. Everyone else, to the sewers. I'll head upstairs," Eric said. There were a few affirmative replies and they split up. Eric hustled up the stairs, keeping a sharp eye out for enemies. He found no one waiting for him at the third story landing and proceeded carefully into the apartments. He located the last of his tenants huddled in the farthest apartment.

"Eric!" Bill cried. "What's going on?"

"We're moving," Eric replied. "Come on. Everyone follow me. Anyone who feels capable, grab a pistol from one of the bodies by the stairwell."

He led them back to the stairwell, waited for most of them to grab a sidearm and then hurried downstairs. A hell of a firefight was happening. He fell in line beside Kyra and Jake, who were keeping up a steady rate of fire at the front door, and yelled for the others to hurry down to the basement. He added his own pistol to the gun show.

"How's it going?!" he asked, shouting to be heard over all the gunplay.

"Not good! They're coming down on this whole block in force!" Kyra replied. "We need to leave! _Now_!"

An idea struck Eric. He hurriedly began searching the nearby bodies they'd made and finally came up with a pair of grenades.

"Go!" he shouted as he primed them. Kyra and Jake broke for the basement. Eric tossed both grenades for the front door and bolted after them. He'd barely made it into the stairwell before the twin explosions send an awful wave of heat and sound after him. He heard several digitized voices shouting in pain. He followed the others down to the basement and found his tenants making for the sub-basement. Once everyone was through, he hopped down into the hole and closed the grate behind him, locking it from the inside.

"Alright, everyone. Let's get the hell out of here!"


End file.
